JULY 25, 2019 – Yesterday evening my brother-in-law, who is a big fan of baseball, and my sister, who is not, took me—a one-time baseball fanatic—to a Twins-Yankees game at Target Field, an easy walk from their apartment on the edge of downtown and from my office in the center of downtown Minneapolis.
The weather was perfect. The Twins’ starting pitcher was not. But amidst a ballpark filled with enthusiastic but well-behaved baseball fans, we enjoyed the outing immensely. My sister enjoyed it enough to indulge in a “Polish”—not her usual fare—purveyed by cheerful vendors; or maybe she enjoyed the game because of the Polish.
At the seventh inning stretch, I joined the rest of Twins humanity (and a surprising number of Yankees fans) in the traditional, rousing rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.” (My sister and brother-in-law remained conspicuously seated.) As I belted out the familiar lyrics, I recalled silently my first Twins game—and my dad.
It had been an improbable occasion.
My family were not sports fanatics, sports enthusiasts or any lesser followers of sports. Dad even qualified as an anti-sports guy. Not only did he not follow sports or talk about them the way most dads did; he actively denigrated big-time sports for their monopolistic grip on the minds of everyone around us. I think he had a point. If those same minds had been drawn to great art, music, and literature; to the study of botany, history, and economics; to fine craftsmanship and to Dad’s countless other personal interests, maybe he would have made a wider allowance for sports. Until the world moved more in his direction, however, Dad had no time for organized sports.
But on one fine day in May, 1964, he made an exception, which would have a profound effect on my own relationship with one sport at least—baseball, America’s pastime, if not Dad’s.
Two days before, Dad had told me a big surprise was in the offing. He’d said it would involve my taking the day off school and his taking the day off work and driving to a special destination. Over the next day and a half, he teased me with half-clues, but I never came close to guessing correctly.
Then, on the day when the surprise would be revealed, about an hour before our appointed departure time, the phone rang. Dad answered while I was standing nearby. It was someone from Dad’s office. The conversation went on for a minute or so, as Dad seemed to be trying to avoid going into the office. Finally he said, “No, I’m afraid I won’t be in today. I’m taking my son to a baseball game.”
I could tell by Dad’s delivery that the information had slipped out before he could rejigger his words; that he regretted instantly his unthinking revelation before its time. He hung up and immediately apologized to me.
(To be cont.)
© 2019 Eric Nilsson
